I'm Not An Angel
by TheChicaChic
Summary: The sequel to 'Bet You Wish You Had Me Back' - what happens when Ruth finds out about Harry and Victoria.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: I apologize now for this as it's not a happy Harry/Ruth story. This picks up after chapter two of 'Bet You Wish You Had Me Back' where Ruth finds out about Harry and Victoria.**_

_**For NatesDate who requested this.**_

* * *

"Harry"

She's standing in the door to the en suite, her auburn hair tangled and cascading over her shoulders, the ends stopping just short of her dusky nipples. She's wearing nothing, her pale skin glowing from their afternoon and early evening spent in bed.

"Harry." Her voice is soft as she steps into the room, her feet soundless as she crosses the wooden floor to stand by him. Her hand is gentle as she lifts it to lie on his shoulder. A gentle squeeze of her hand, she settles next to him, her eyes drifting to the phone as she nods at it. "What's wrong."

"It's..." for a second, he wants to tell her that it's over. That his girlfriend has found out about them and he has to return to London post haste to grovel at her feet. Beg her forgiveness and swear on his soul that it will never happen again. But he knows from past experience that it won't be that simple. That days and weeks of arguing don't necessarily mean Ruth will forgive him. Jane never did. "It's my son. Graham. He was in an accident."

"Oh Harry." Hand sliding along the back of his bare shoulder, Victoria leans closer, her breasts pressing into his arm. "I'm sorry." Head falling against his shoulder, she holds him tight, her fingers slowly caressing his bicep. "We'll go back to London. I'll call the airport. Get us on the next flight."

He can feel the softness of her skin. The warmth of her body resting against him. And suddenly he has no desire to return to England. To fight a battle that won't get him anywhere. Hand lifting to brush hers, he grips her fingers and squeezes. "No." Voice breaking, he pauses a moment, clearing his throat before continuing. "No, we can stay. That was Catherine. My daughter." he clarifies at her look of confusion. "He's no longer in danger."

"It doesn't matter." Shifting, she moves until she's facing him, balancing precariously on the edge of the mattress. "You should be there. With him. France can wait."

"He won't see me. Hasn't for over ten years. My showing up will make things worse." His eyes drift to the phone once more before meeting hers. "I just...want to call Catherine back. Check in and let her know I'll call in the morning. Wait for me in the tub."

"Harry..."

"Please Vicki."

Hearing the stress in his voice, she nods, not wanting to push him. "I'll be waiting for you." she whispers, standing. As she crosses to the en suite, she stops to look at him, her heart breaking at the somber looking covering his features as he stares at the phone. "I love you."

* * *

She's curled on the sofa, legs tucked under her as the tears run down her cheeks. On the floor in front of her, the phone rests where she dropped it, her heart in pieces.

Harry.

In France.

With another woman.

God, how could she have been so stupid. How could she have trusted him.

It had been her biggest fear, all those months ago. Harry and his wandering eye, his need to find the next best thing. She isn't naive. She knew his history. Had read his personal file, listened to the rumours circling the services. But it hadn't mattered. He'd promised he was different. Had grown up. No longer was he the man who cheated on his partner.

And she had bought his bull shit. Lock, stock, and barrel.

Trusted him.

Only this time, _she_ was the other woman. She was the woman helping him cheat on his partner.

She feels dirty.

Her eyes drift over the burgundy fluff that is her sofa. Remembers them stretched out on it only a few days before. Skin pressed together, his pelvis pressed into hers, his erection buried deep inside her inner warmth as they slowly rocked together. Her leg wrapped over his thigh as she squeezes around him, the fine hairs of his chest rubbing against her breasts, breath hitching as his thumb brushes against her clitoris. Her orgasm slowly overcoming her, pulling him into his. The warmth of his semen filling her.

Her breath catches as she starts crying again, her chest shaking as she pushes herself to her feet. She needs a shower. Needs to wash the memory of his skin from hers.

She's just stepping away from the couch when the phone rings again. For the slightest of seconds she considers ignoring it, but deep inside, she knows she can't. Bending down, she picks it up. Without looking at the caller idea, she presses talk.

"Hello." Her voice is thick with the tears she's cried and she hates Harry a little more, knowing she's going to get called into work.

"Ruth, don't hang up. Please."

* * *

His fingers are gripping the phone as it rings. _Pick up,_ he begs in his mind, though he's not sure what he'll say if she does.

_Hello._

He can hear the break in her voice as it comes through the phone, his gut twisting as he knows he's done this to her. "Ruth, don't hang up. Please."

He waits for the telltale sign that she's ignored him, that she's turned the phone off, but it never comes. Releasing the breath he'd been holding, he closes his eyes and speaks. "I need to explain."

"No, you don't."

"Ruth, it's not what you think. I swear, it's not what you're thinking."

"What? You're not having a dirty weekend with your girlfriend? Or does it not classify as a dirty weekend because you're together? I'm not sure of the technicalities. I've never been the other woman."

"You're not the other woman..." he stops as he realises he's wrong. "I mean..." clearing his throat, he continues, "you..."

"Just stop Harry. I'm done." He can hear her voice break as she continues. "There's nothing you can say, nothing you can do, that will ever make this right. You've made me feel dirty, made me hate the person I am. I don't like myself very much right now and I hate you."

"Please Ruth, don't do this." His hand is gripping the phone as the tears silently start falling. "We can make us work."

"There is no us." He can hear her pause, hear her take a deep breath before she continues. "We work together. You're my boss, I'm your analyst. That's it." She stops and he knows she's thinking even as she snifs. "Unless you're going to transfer or fire me."

"What? No, never. I ne.."

"Fine. Don't call me again. Not unless it's work related."

He's left starring at the phone again as she hangs up, his heart sinking as he realises they're done.

* * *

She's lying in the tub, eyes closed, when she feels him enter the en suite. Lazily, she opens her eyes, watches as he steps to the edge of the tub and watches her. She can't tell what it is that is filling his eyes; the flashes of emotions changing before she can identify them.

"Harry, is everything alright?"

"Fine." He says nothing else as he steps further into the room, his fingers sliding into the waistband of his boxers as he pushes them down. She watches as the material gathers at his feet and he steps free. Her breath catches as his hand grips his flaccid penis, fingers wrapping around it as he starts stroking himself. She can see his breath catch as the skin of his penis brushes the valley of skin between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes on hers as he continues stroking until he's hard

"Harry, what are you doing?" She's sat up, her full breasts resting above the water, the bubbling water wrapping around her tightening nipples.

"I want you." His answer is simple as he steps into the tub. "I need you." She watches as he slips to his knees, the coursing water surrounding his erection as he reaches out. She moans as his fingers grip her nipples, pinching them as he rolls them between his fingers. Slowly she reaches out, her hand wrapping around the base of his throbbing erection, their hands brushing as they both stroke him.

"Turn around."

"What?" Confusion fills her as she meets his eyes, seeing nothing but arousal.

"Trust me," he pauses, his hands sliding under her arms to pull her up. As she settles on her knees, he kisses her, his tongue sliding into her mouth to caress hers, slowly relaxing her. Feeling her press against him, he pulls back, his hand sliding along her face as he smiles. "I want to make this unbelievable for you. Turn around, lean over the slopped wall of the tub, and spread your legs slightly."

"But the jets..." she mutters, turning like he requested. As she leans forward, her elbows meet the cool porcelain, the water brushing over her folds in a pleasurable pulse. Before she has a chance to process it, he's between her legs, his pubic hair brushing the soft skin of her buttocks as he thrusts into her. She gasps, her body falling forward as he stretches her.

His hands slid around her, one resting against her flat stomach as the other strokes her clitoris. It's fast, him pounding into her from behind, as his lips suck on the skin of her neck and his thumb presses against her. She can feel his solid length sliding into her, his thighs pressing into hers as he presses into her. The combination of his stroking, his pounding, and the pressure of the jets on her clit has her crying out, her body shaking as her orgasm rocks her. He's not far behind, coming with a loud grunt as he falls into her, pushing her against slope of the tub.

As they lay there gasping, Victoria can feel him twitching inside her, his weight a solid comfort as he lies on her.


	2. Chapter 2

**_AN: Pleased at the overall response from the first chapter. I know this isn't the happiest of stories right now, but I can say that by the end, something will happen that will result in a somewhat happy Harry and Ruth. Reviews are much welcomed and loved. They are like peanut butter; an addiction that I don't want to break._**

**_Thanks to Theoofoof for reading this over._**

* * *

_The tips of his fingers ghosting over…_

With a low groan, Ruth reaches for the scrubby hanging from the wall, automatically adding the cucumber shower gel Harry hates before scrubbing at her tender flesh. It's been fifteen minutes since she'd clamored into the tiled enclosure, turning the spigot to the hottest possible temperature, as she tries to wash away the filth. Already she has scrubbed her skin raw in the blistering water, trying to remove the images and feelings coursing through her.

But it's not working.

Subconsciously she knows the water will cool before she will feel clean, before the memories of Harry touching her, _lov…fucking_ her, will ever fade, but she can't stop cleansing.

He's stirred in her the lowest of emotions, filling her with self-hatred and loathing at the idea that she's become something she always swore she never would. _The other woman._ Rationally she knows there was no way she could know; he had never shared with her that he was in a relationship with someone, had never slipped until now or given her a reason to doubt she was the only person in his life.

It still burns her, makes her feel like filth.

As she thinks, she scrubs the skin of her stomach, adding additional pressure as the thought of his lips sliding over her breasts. Sucking at her.

"God!"

She's frustrated at her lack of ability to banish him from her mind. It's been over eight hours since she found out about him and this woman. His _girlfriend_. By all accounts, he shouldn't have this hold over her. They were only together for a few months, hadn't even lived together. And yet – she had loved him.

* * *

Victoria leans against the headboard, her knees drawn to her chest as she watches him sleep. He'd been quiet when they'd climbed from the tub, his hand on her elbow as she tried to find her legs after that thorough fucking he'd given her. Even ten minutes after he'd pulled out of her, after he'd carefully and slowly rubbed her skin clean with the orange blossom shower gel he'd gotten her, she'd still had difficulty making her muscles function correctly, the feeling of him behind her, in her, on her still fresh.

There had been no love in their coming together. Just pure, unadulterated lust. Animalistic even. In the eight months they had been together, not once had the sex been like that. Of course, she can understand why; his mind nor his heart had been in it; and she can live with that. His son; his _only_ son; was in hospital. Was in serious condition. The act had been to lose oneself in a moment of uncontrollable bliss. She'll never hold it against him. Not when it's perhaps the most intense orgasm she's ever experienced.

Now all she wants to do is offer him comfort. To support him. She had tried to get him to open up, to share what he was thinking with her; but he'd shrugged her off. Told; not asked; her to leave it be. That all he needed was sleep. And then, for the first time in their entire relationship, he'd pulled on a pair of briefs and a t-shirt, and climbed into bed. No kiss. No sleeping naked like was normal. Just rolled on his side; back to her; and amazingly went to sleep.

And now she's lying here, watching him. It's been four hours since he'd turned his back on her. His breathing has evened out over the last two or so, snores filling the air in between his tossing and turning, his mumbling of something to low for her to make out.

Which makes her think there's more than worry for his son going through his mind.

If she were a little less trusting, more insecure in her relationship with Harry, she might go through his phone. See who had called him earlier. She knows it wasn't his daughter, the feminine gasp as she'd said hello, the subsequent hanging up had shown that. But she trusts him. And if she's truthful, it probably had to do with work.

Victoria knows what he does for a living. They'd had a discussion a few weeks into their relationship about the true nature of his work. She'd signed the official secrets act, knows that there will be times he can't tell her what's going on in his life.

And she accepts that. Sure it's difficult, those weeks when he's distant, less forthcoming, and avoids sharing what he's done on days they hadn't seen each other, hadn't talked. She knows what it's like not to be able to discuss ones work. It's one thing that works for them; she knows he can't tell her everything and he doesn't question when she needs to avoid a certain topic.

'You're over thinking something so simple, something so easily explained Victoria.' She sighs, giving in and listening to her internal debate.

With a final, worried glance at his back, Victoria slips from the bed and grabs her mobile. Crossing to the patio doors, she quietly slips the locks free and pulls it open, pausing only to glance at his back. It's a testament to how distracted he is as he doesn't even flinch. Cold air hitting her, she slips onto the terracotta tiles, shutting the door behind her.

Walking to the decorative railing, she turns the screen on and starts looking for a familiar number saved in her contacts. As she presses call, she looks out over the streets. It's late and still, there are people out. Couples holding hands as they stumble home from bars, and she wishes that today had ended differently. She can't say it's only for selfish reasons of wanting a romantic weekend with her boyfriend, but also because she hates seeing the pain that Harry is suffering.

Pressing the buttons to the automated system, she listens as an operator finally comes on the line.

"Yes, I'd like to change a flight detail. From Sunday evening to tomorrow morning. No, I realise there will be a penalty, I'm not worried about it. You can charge my Amex card that's on file. There's been an emergency at home and we need to get back. 7.30 am. Perfect. Thank you."

* * *

The afternoon sun is high in the sky as Harry pulls to a stop on the quiet street, his eyes taking in his surroundings even as he watches the house. He's tired, having not slept well the night before, and he wants nothing more than to go home, crawl between the sheets, and wake up to find this has all been a nightmare.

Only he knows that won't happen.

Already he's had a day from hell, and he knows it's about to get a hundred times worse.

Victoria had insisted on going to hospital with him when they'd landed, wanting to offer her support as he saw his son. In a normal situation; or had it been Ruth; he wouldn't have minded, but having her with him had only added to his misery.

And Catherine.

She'd known. Had asked if Victoria was Ruth when they'd arrived, had blessedly kept her mouth shut at his momentary shock and fear, and been polite. At least until Victoria had left. And then she'd expressed her outrage and disbelief in his ways, letting him know that she could not believe he hadn't learned, that he was still cheating on his girlfriend.

Only she had thought it was Ruth.

When he'd quietly come clean with everything that had happened, Catherine had been angry. Perhaps that was the wrong word. She had been livid, had actually sided with Ruth. Told him what a fool he had been.

And then told him to fix it.

Which is why he's here now, parked outside Ruth's ready to grovel.


	3. Chapter 3

**_AN: Right, seems like most don't think Harry would ever have cheated on Ruth and I have to agree. Technically though, he's not cheating on her, he's cheating on Victoria to be with Ruth and he's just got caught. After you've read this next offering, please take a moment if you can and leave a review - I'm interested to see what you all this._**

**_Thank you to Natesdate for reading this over and giving her thoughts._**

* * *

She's engrossed in sorting through months old mail when she opens the door and so it takes her a moment to realize that the overzealous insurance salesman she was expecting is, in fact, Harry. Wearing a navy button down shirt with a pair of loose khaki's and navy canvas shoes; arm tucked behind his back; he looks relaxed, and were it not for his pained expression and her memory of all she'd found out the day before, she'd be inclined to think this a social call.

"Is there a red flash?" Cradling the mail to her chest with one arm, she uses the other to grip the wood of the door. "A problem at work?"

"No."

"I see." Eyes void of feeling, she watches him, sees a moment of hope pass across his face, before she pushes the door shut with a solid snap. Mail still in her arm, she turns to make her way back to the sitting room, ignoring the knock that comes moments later.

Stopping in the doorway, she takes in the piles of clothing and other items filling the boxes littering the floor. The multitude of blouses; the multi-purple one she wore that first day on the Grid so many years before. Of the dresses; black silk from that night that changed their her life. A pair of his socks she'd found under the bed. Her duvet and all the sheets and blankets from her bed that she hadn't slept in the night before. All gathered to be washed and donated to some charity.

Head shaking, she continues to ignore the knocking at the front door and crosses back to her cluttered desk to drop the mail in her shred box, intent on purging herself of all that is Harry Pearce.

"Ruth, open the door."

Eyes lifting once to the door, she momentarily debates letting him in, and just as fast, she squashes those thoughts, turning to the last pile of mail that had built up over the last few months. _Junk, Junk, Bill, Junk, Invitation, Junk _she thinks, sorting everything but the bill into the shred bin. Pleased with the progress she's making on her purging, Ruth grabs the box, pausing to put the lid securely on, before carrying it to the cupboard under the stairs.

As she closes the door, she looks to the front, and through the coloured glass, she sees Harry still standing there, his bulk blocking the afternoon light.

"I know you're there. I can see your shadow." His voice is muffled from the glass and wood, but she can hear the anger starting to build. "Can you please let me in?" he pauses a moment, for what she's not sure, before he speaks again. "Or we can do this through the door; me on your front step for all your neighbors to hear; I don't care. All I want; all I _need_; is to explain."

Worrying her bottom lip, she debates for a moment, wondering if she really wants to deal with this right now. That choice is taken from her when he starts speaking again.

"Fine. We'll do it your way." He pauses, and through the glass, she can see his shoulders sag. "I'm sorry. Sorry that I carried on with Victoria when you and I started…"

She rushes to the door, wrenching it open before he can continue. Face flushed, she steps back, silently gesturing him in. As he crosses the threshold, she sticks her head out the door, looking about and pleased to see none of her neighbors out and about. Closing the door, she turns to him, watching as he toes off his shoes before holding out a bouquet of purple hyacinth and yellow daffodil to her, his hand shaking the only sign of his nervousness. Ignoring them, she steps around him and into the sitting room, momentary hesitation of where to sit before deciding that standing is better.

As he follows her into the room, he stops, eyes going wide at the numerous packed boxes, and his heart stops. She's angry; this he knows; but he never expected her to be so angry that she'd leave. Fingers tightening around the stems, he lifts his eyes to hers. "I'm sorry."

"You said that." Her voice cool, Ruth continues, "I'm not inclined to believe you."

"I am sorry." Taking a step towards her, he looks around again. "Please don't leave because of this, the Section needs you, _I_ need you."

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm not leaving because you've made me look the fool. I'm…call it spring cleaning, removing all the excess waste from my life." Arms folding across her chest, Ruth watches him.

"Your duvet?" he asks, his eyes taking in the contents of the boxes. "The new dressing gown I got you…" he pauses, eyes going wide as he spots a leather bound book lying in the one. "Your first edition of _The Ovid_."

"They're all tainted." She pauses, seeing the shock and hurt slowly changing to anger in his features. "Now, you've said what you came to say – leave."

"Tainted? _Tainted?!_ I know I made a mistake but…"

"A mistake? You made _a_ mistake? You used me to cheat on your girlfriend!" Her voice rising, she takes a step closer. "And now I'm correcting _your_ mistake."

"I don't need you to correct my mistakes."

"Well thank God for that."

He pauses, his breath coming out in a rush as he fights to control his temper. Fighting is not why he came here today. "Ruth, please. Can we talk? I need to explain to you. Make you understand what happened. I don't want to lose us."

"There is no us."

"There was," he pauses at this, his emphasis on was as he holds her eyes, "and there can be again. Let me fix this."

"How?" she snorts, "By telling me this is all an elaborate joke? A colossal misunderstanding? Because I wish to God that it was."

"It can be." His voice soft, he takes a step closer to her, fingers still gripping the bouquet. "No one knows."

"I know." She whispers, her eyes tearing up at how simple his plan sounds. It would be so easy to pretend that this had never happened.

Harry sees the tears, feels his heart break a little at the realization he's caused this pain, and steps closer. Dropping the flowers to the sofa, he tentatively wraps his arms around her, pulling her close as she doesn't fight him. Her head buried into his chest, Harry rests his cheek on her hair, holding her as she cries, her fingers clutching at his back.

"Tell me how to fix this." He whispers a few minutes later, hands sliding through her hair to lift her face to his. "Tell me how to make this better for you, make you realize you're the only one I want, the only one who matters. Victoria means nothing compared to you."

Ruth tenses, her tear filled eyes meeting his. Somehow it was easier when she didn't know the other woman's name. She couldn't be real. But now...the feelings of the past twenty-four hours comes rushing back to her, filling her with self-loathing and anger. Twisting, she tries to break free of his grip. "Let me go."

"No." he says, tightening his hold on her. "Don't do this, don't fight _us_."

He leans down, intending to kiss her, show her how much he loves her, when she slaps him, his cheek stinging from where her palm hit it. Hands still tangled in her hair, Harry stops moving and stares at her, shocked that Ruth had hit him; could hit anyone. "Ruth, please." Voice full of emotion, he pleads with her.

"Let me go Harry. Let me go and get out!" Hands raising, she lies her palms on his chest and pushes.

He wants to hold her. Wants to love her. But he has never; nor will he ever; force a woman into anything that she doesn't want. And so he lets her go, sadness filling him as she steps back. Her shoulders are shaking as she fights back even more tears. He hates seeing her cry, hates watching the tears pool in her eyes, run across her tender skin, and so he reaches out to pull her into his arms again. But she reacts, bending down to pick up something from the box. It happens to be her copy of _The Ovid_, and as he gets closer, she throws it at him.

She's distraught so she misses his head; even from a close distance; but manages to hit him in the chest. With a slight humph, Harry clutches the book to his chest, watching as she reaches for something else in the box. As she picks up a pair of shoes, he backs towards the door, ducking as one shoe flies by his ear.

"I'm not giving up on us."

"Get out!"

With a final look, he does just that.

_**TBC**_


	4. Chapter 4

It's not late; maybe a quarter past six; on a Tuesday night, but the Grid is deserted. Only the constant hum of electronics carrying on their monitoring of this and that can be heard in the large room; the only light a red hue through a wall of glass. The teams been working late, ferreting out information on a new terrorist group called Pure Britain.

For over a week, they'd pulled second and third shifts trying to find a way in, that one weak link that would allow someone from Section D to move in and garner the information needed to plant a mole.

And they'd found it.

Ruth was out with Jo even as Harry sat at his desk, reading through the legend she would adapt come the dawns early light. The quiet librarian at Kings College of London, working on her dissertation of Chaucer, upset at being denied entrance to Oxford due to the need for more immigrant students.

He's just flipping a page when the soft knock comes at his door. Page held in mid-air, Harry feels his heart soar, thrilled at the prospect that Ruth is seeking him out. Even if she's breaking habit and knocking. Because it's been a long six weeks since she found out about Victoria and he misses her fiercely. Closing the report, he folded his hands on top of his desk as a soft but genuine smile fills his face.

"Come in."

After a moment's hesitation, the thick wood slides open to reveal a nervous Malcolm. Smile falling from his face, Harry motions the man in, eyes going back to his report.

Stepping across the threshold, Malcolm pauses to close the door, his fingers staling on the handle.

He does not want to be here, does not want to be the one to bring this up. But he also would never forgive himself were his friends to be embarrassed, or worse, threatened. And were anyone else to find out...

"Malcolm?"

Startled from his thoughts, Malcolm quickly crosses to the empty chair, perching on the edge as he folds his hands in his lap, his eyes watching Harry. They sit in silence, one starring at the other for what seems like hours, but is only minutes, before Harry clears his throat.

"Was there something you needed?"

"Oh. Yes!" Malcolm pauses, the words he'd been thinking only a second before stuck in his throat.

"Just say it." Harry says, sensing the potential for this to draw on.

"Right. You know that the Grid's Internet usage is monitored by an impartial group of specialists from all branches of the military and Security Services."

"Yes." Fingers rubbing his forehead, Harry waits.

"Routinely, I check the logs, do my own monitoring of what traffic is leaving our humble abode, and if it is, bring it to your attention."

Interested now, Harry leans forward, the prospect of another trader among their ranks weighing heavy upon him.

"Most of the time, I don't look; I mean you're our section head; it's not my place to follow up on you. So it wasn't intentional when I clicked on your browsing history, I wasn't trying to invade your privacy. But as I moved to select Joanna's, I inadvertently clicked your name." Clearing his throat, Malcolm plows on. "I mean Pearce does come right before Por..."

"Malcolm - point?"

"Yes, of course. I know it's none of my business; what you and Ruth do on your own time as it's just that - your own; but browsing for lingerie on your work computer...I hate to think what this information in the wrong hands could do."

"Yes, I agree." Careful to not project his embarrassment currently filling him, Harry continues. "I trust this won't find its way around to your colleagues?"

"Of course not." Sensing the end of their conversation, and thankful for lack of yelling, Malcolm stands. Hands at his side, he smiles at his oldest friend, his first genuine of the evening. "I'm really happy for the two of you. It's obvious to those that know the two of you how much Ruth loves you."

Before he can reply, Malcolm is out the door and he's left alone, immense guilt filling his heart.

There is no Ruth and him.

Not right now at least; and not likely ever if he doesn't get moving.

A glance at his watch has him moving to shut down his computer and pulling open the bottom drawer, his fingers gripping the handles of a gift bag. He's just pulled it free from the desk when his mobile rings. Glancing at the screen, he frowns at the unknown number.

"Pearce."

* * *

Doors swinging shut behind him, Harry glances around the crowded A&E department, eyes seeking the familiar wave of darker hair. His brief conversation with the nurse had him calling the restaurant to canceling his reservations, stowing the gift bag back in his desk, and pulling his overcoat on as he strode from his office. A quick word with his driver had them at the Royal London Hospital within the hour.

Now he seeks.

As his eyes pass over the many people, they travel across a familiar head of blonde. Frown deepening on his face, he strides over, a deep fear settling in the pit of his stomach.

"Jo?"

Whipping around, the woman turns to see her boss, question in his eyes.

"I thought you were with Ruth."

"I was." Pausing, she shakes her head, offering a weak smile. "I am."

He looks around the room, eyes seeking precious brunette locks. Not finding them, he frowns, his hazel eyes meeting his younger colleagues.

"She's...err...in the back." Jo says quietly, her hand reaching out to lie against his arm. "Is that why you're here? The hospital called you?"

Before he can answer, an impossibly young man in a Doctor's jacket comes from the back, his eyes traveling the room before settling on Jo. He steps over to them, chart gripped in his hand as he stops.

"Ms. Portman? I'm Dr Edwards." Pausing, he glances at Harry. "Can we speak in private?"

"Err, well...you see."

"I'm Ruth's fiancé."

Eyes wide, the young man glances at the chart in his hands. "Oh. Umm...that...uhh...makes it different. We don't have anything down about fiancé but Ms. Evershed has been unconscious since she arrived."

Breath catching, Harry stares at the young man.

"Err..." fearful of the stare he's getting, the doctor continues. "Ms. Evershed is on her way up to Emergency Surgery."

"Why?" is the only thing he can manage, fear gripping his heart.

"Mr..."

"Pearce. Henry Pearce."

"Mr. Pearce I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Ms. Evershed suffered a rupture of her left fallopian." Seeing the colour drain from the older man's face, the doctor grips his arm tightly. "We were unable to save the pregnancy; there's just too much damage; but there's no reason not to expect her to make a full recovery."

"Pregnancy." he mutters, "surgery." Nothing else is getting through to his shell-shocked mind.

"Mr. Pearce, are you alright?"

"What?" Shaking his head, he focuses his eyes again on the doctor. "Yes." Clearing his throat, he tries again. "Yes, I'm fine. Where can I find Ruth? Our baby?"

"You bastard."

Eyes wide, Harry turns; along with the doctor and Jo; to see a woman standing behind them, eye black as she stands supported on crutches.

"Victoria."


	5. Chapter 5

_**AN: Well, this is the end. I hope you enjoyed the journey and I thank you for reading and reviewing.**_

_**A special thanks to NatesDate and HR Always Lives On for reading through this beforehand.**_

* * *

Slowly he allows his fingers to trace over the pale, delicate skin of her hand, always paying special mind to avoid the IV in her hand. How long he's been there, just watching her rest, he's unsure, but he knows he won't leave until she throws him out. And even then, it will only be to the hall. If the evening has shown him nothing else, it's that he cannot fathom a life without Ruth. He loves her; plain and simple; and he will do whatever it takes to win her trust back, to allow him to love her.

Openly.

Freely.

Completely.

Earlier, when Victoria had demanded he chose; Ruth or her; he didn't even think about it. The words _'Ruth. I will always chose Ruth'_ had slipped out, and as he stood there in front of her, he had realized how true they were. No matter what, he would choose Ruth.

"How is she?"

Startled from his thoughts, his fingers still and he looks up. In the open doorway, Malcolm stands, light from the hallway behind him. A glance at his watch has him shocked to see that it's almost 6 in the morning.

"Alive." Which is more than the young doctor had initially prepared him for, the words 'she may die' still clinging to his conscious.

"She's a fighter."

It's a statement more than a comment and Harry finds himself nodding in agreement, his fingers wrapping tightly around hers as the other man settles into the vacant chair on her other side.

"How could you?"

He sighs, knowing the question would come up and yet hoping it wouldn't, naively hoping that Jo would not mention the scene that had played out the night before.

* * *

_"You bastard."_

_ Eyes wide, Harry turns; along with the doctor and Jo; to see a woman standing behind them, eye black as she stands supported on crutches._

_ "Victoria."_

_ "Yes, Victoria." Hobbling forward as best she can, the woman stops in front of him, eyes alight. "Who's Ruth?"_

_ "I can explain." He says softly, hand reaching out to cover hers._

_ "Is she your wife? Your mistress? Some random girl you knocked up?"_

_ "Please," he pleads, eyes glancing around at the others, "can we not do this here?"_

_ "Oh, am I embarrassing you?" Voice bitter, she laughs, her eyes drawing to Jo. "I'm so sorry to embarrass you in front of…" she stops a moment, her attention turning to Jo. "Are you another of his lovers?"_

_ "What? Me? No. God no." Eyes wide, Jo looks between her boss and the other woman._

_ "Lucky you." Her attention is drawn to the man who she thought she was falling in love with, the one who is currently holding her hand. Shrugging away, she glares. "I thought you were a better man, different from the guys I've dated in the past. Instead you're just as bad; worse even."_

_ "If you'll give me some time; some privacy; I can explain." His hand reaches out for hers again._

_ "We're done."_

* * *

_And then, to emphasize her point, she moves the crutch from under her right arm, lifting it to hit him firmly in the groin. As his mouth drops open in a loud groan, his hands drop to grip privates, and he bends over, his face lowering. Dropping the crutch, Victoria draws her arm back, her hand curling into a fist as she lets it fly forward and connect with his flesh. _

_A sickening snap of bone breaking is heard and then Victoria is moving back, her hand shaking as she mutters expletives. The doctor, finally over his shock, rushes forward to support the woman, his arm going around her waist as he grips her flailing arm._

_"Shit, I think I've broken my hand."_

His fingers lift to his eyes, feels the swollen flesh that has surely blackened over the night, and he shifts in his seat, his balls still sore.

"I was going to end it. Last night." Hand dropping, he sighs and carefully reaches out for Ruth's hand again. "Tell her…it wasn't working out."

"And you think that makes this situation any better? That it hurts Ruth any less?" His eyes move from his oldest friend to one of his closest. "God, I was so happy for Ruth; for you; thought you were the perfect one for her."

"I am." He whispers, fingers tightening. "And she's the one for me. I screwed up. Thought I could end things with Victoria before Ruth and I got too serious. Only it didn't work."

"No, it didn't." Eyes slowly leaving the seemingly peaceful sleeping face, Malcolm lifts his eyes back to Harry. "Did she know? About Victoria?"

"Not at first." His voice is quiet as he too slowly looks at the sleeping woman. "Not until 6 weeks ago. She found out I was in France with Victoria; not Catherine; and ended it."

"Good for her." Sighing, Malcolm, let's go of his anger and looks between the two; see's the anguish on Harry's face as he grips tightly to Ruth's hand. "You do love her, don't you?"

"With my whole heart." He whispers, carefully lifting the pale hand to his lips. "And I want her to love me."

"It's going to be a long time before she trusts you again; if she ever does."

"I know." Harry sighs, his stomach tight with anxiety. "But I'll make it up to her."

"You've a long way to go. And if it comes to it, I'll stand behind Ruth." Eyes moving between the two again, he smiles a small smile. "But until then, I hope you do."


End file.
